


Method

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Short One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Method actors were the loony ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Method

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short combination of smut and character piece, I suppose. Enjoy!

Method actors were the loony ones, Graham knew. Years in the industry had proved that to him time and again. They were the ones who lost two or three stone for a role, walking around like skeletons, or the ones who spent a month in a ward, learning what it was like to be off in the head. As if they didn't know it already.

Loony, they were, tromping around in their costumes and asking for tea in all the proper accents. Yes, Graham had known his share, but it was all right, wasn't it? Whatever worked for a bloke was all to the better, so long as it didn't get in his way. 

This was…possibly…stepping into his way. Possibly, fuck, this was standing right on the tracks, waiting for the train to barrel over him. Method, insanity, at the moment they felt like the same thing and Graham was only there waiting to get run down. 

"Harder!" Richard demanded and he had two handfuls of sheet twisted into a white-knuckled grip, the heels of his palms braced hard against the rumpled mattress. Harsh, clipped syllables, nothing like his normal voice, no. Richard, the soft spoken man he'd first met might ask, might beg. This…amalgamation, this blend of man and method was not that Richard, not the one demanding roughly that Graham fuck him harder. 

Was it worse, he wondered dimly, that he obeyed? Followed the command of his leader (not-leader, just Richard, but not). He dug his fingers in the smooth curve of his hips, thumbs digging into the meat of his arse and yanked Richard back against him, fucked in harder, yes, harder, deeper, made Richard fuck himself on Graham's cock. 

Bastard was tight, tighter than he'd have guessed, what with the way the man cocked his hips; the shy flicker of his eyes was perhaps more true than he'd thought at first sight. Tight, hot, fucking perfect, and Graham could feel cooling sweat sliding down his back, lust coiled in his belly, waiting for another command, another order from the leader of this outfit. 

A low snarl with not a word at all was his only instruction, Richard falling down on to an elbow, and his other hand slithered beneath him, his elbow working in quick, rhythmic pulls. Orders, commands, fuck it all, that was one Graham wanted for himself and he managed to loosen his grip, fumbling around until he found Richard's hand, wrapped around it to feel the curl of his fingers around his prick. 

It was a plea of its own, he didn't wonder, pleading silently for a touch and he felt it when Richard consented, his hand sliding lower and offering Graham a good bit of the top to grasp, the curve of the head perfect for a wet slide of thumb. Pretty cock, long and with a good heft, fleeting, insane images of axe hands and sword cramming through his brain. The two of them worked him, following the hard flex of Graham's hips as he drove in, working for a rhythm. Choreography, wasn't it, though, each of them falling into place and Graham knew this dance, knew every step, and he could follow along. 

Beneath him, Richard gave a low, choked groan, a thick growl of sound, and he came in hot, wet pulses over Graham's knuckles, sticky-slick and messy and Richard losing his rhythm, losing the dance of it was like a gift, allowing Graham to see through method and madness and the shadow of acting into the reality of Richard coming in his hand. 

Chasing off his own orgasm would have taken a stronger man than Graham proved to be. The sweet-painful clench of Richard's arse around him near yanked it out of him, and Graham could only follow along, taking in the impact of the train coming along his path as he threw back his head and gave in the shout that welled up inside him, primal and wordless. A last hard thrust and he came, hips jerking as he spilled into Richard's clenching arse, a heartbeat throb that seemed to milk every drop from him. Until he could only drop his head down, rest his forehead into the sweaty hollow between Richard's shoulder blades and listen to the thunder of his own pulse in his ears. 

For a long moment, Graham only rested there, dragging his sticky knuckles absently up the soft line of fuzz on Richard's belly. His hand was on Graham's forearm, not holding, really, more like…feeling, his fingers curious against the shift of muscles. They sank to the bed almost as one, a gasp shared between them as Graham slipped out and he only shifted closer, let the soft bulk of his prick snug up against Richard's arse cheeks. 

His beard felt rough even to him as he rubbed it against Richard's sweaty shoulder, felt the coarse drag of hair though no protest came. Long moments of silence passed, the hand on his arm going still, fingers tightening as Richard finally said, low, "Dwalin."

Graham closed his eyes and let out a slow, shaky word. "Aye."

Let reality go hang for a while. 

 

\--fin


End file.
